A wife, mother, runner, teacher & writer, I have to hit the ground running.

i get by with a little help from my friends

About this blog

By Emily Dickey

I am a 30-something Waynesboro native. My husband Chip and I have been married for 13 years and are the parents of Nora (9) and Eve (5). I am a high school English teacher, who dreams of one day having my books published. An avid runner, I have
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I am a 30-something Waynesboro native. My husband Chip and I have been married for 13 years and are the parents of Nora (9) and Eve (5). I am a high school English teacher, who dreams of one day having my books published. An avid runner, I have medals from four marathons and five half-marathons hanging from my mirror for inspiration to continue hitting the pavement.

Last week I was completely unmotivated – yes, you heard me, completely unmotivated.
I can’t really pinpoint what the issue was. But when someone asked me to do something, my overwhelming urge was to say, “No.”
Anyone who knows me knows this isn’t typical. I’m a “do-er.” I’m a completion queen. I’m a get-this-STUFF-done kind of lady. But that wasn’t me last week. For some reason, the snooze alarm was easier to hit. The dirty laundry felt more comfortable in its basket. Essays that needed graded waited patiently in silence. And my running shoes begged for a few extra rest days.
At first it felt good to say, “No.” I liked the way my mouth formed a perfect “O” every time I said it. I liked the feeling of weightless shoulders. I liked the extra sleep, extra TV-time, extra Facebook check-ins, extra sleep, extra energy – and extra sleep. No, it wasn’t a hobbit-state that I was yearning, but that seemed to be the one that I easily fell into when I allowed myself to say that simple word.
But by about the third or fourth day, a depression of sorts took over my being. My usually upbeat persona was replaced with Emily from the Black Lagoon. Grumpiness seemed to course through my veins. I was short-tempered, easily irritated, exceptionally bitchy and downright dreadful.
It didn’t stop there. By day five, I was in a funk so deep not even chocolate could help me out. My dialogue was filled with complaints and whines. My 30-something-year-old laugh lines were turning into frown indentations. I started to see the glass half empty – and took no measures to fill it up with anything but sour grapes. People were shying away from me – co-workers would walk on the opposite side of the hallway and avoid eye contact – at least that’s what it felt like.
Heck, I didn’t even want to be around myself.
Just when I was about to throw in the towel, crawl in bed and sleep ‘til Spring, I received a few texts and voicemails from friends which helped to turn the tide.
It wasn’t so much what they said – it was that they said something.
More than anything, they made me smile. Isn’t the power of friendship amazing? Most of these women didn’t have any idea of the stupor I had succumbed to. They simply thought of me, picked up their phones and thought nothing about the power their words would have on me. On some telepathic level, maybe they had unconscious awareness of my need.
By mid-afternoon on that fifth day, I was starting to feel like saying “yes” again. I invited my daughters to a stimulating hour of Shrinky Dink creation. I planned my lessons for the upcoming week, folded clean laundry, picked up scattered toys, arranged a gossip session with my best friend, responded to week-old emails and kissed my husband.
I even went so far as to drive over to my running partner’s house just to schedule a run for the following morning (I know, I see the irony in this statement too).
Now, I’m back to my old overscheduled, somewhat-addictive lifestyle, but this time with a new sense of motivation.
Never underestimate the power that a few words might have on someone else’s world.